


Needles and Thread

by irismoon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irismoon/pseuds/irismoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her stitches were crooked again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needles and Thread

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing Arya and Gendry. I have never had any desire to write them before but this Idea came to me while I was re-reading Game of thrones. This is the first thing I have worked on in months, and have spent the last 2 months very sick, in and out of the hospital. Doing better now and looking forward to working on my stories.
> 
> Spoilers thru all the books and the show to be safe.
> 
> Disclaimer, it all belongs to GRRM
> 
> No warnings that I can think of.
> 
> I dont have a beta so this is probably a mess. Constructive critisim is always welcome, and positive comments make me smile and inspire me to keep writing, so thank you to everyone who has encouraged me.

Her stitches were crooked again. 

She stared down at the tiny needle in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she tried to focus on the task at hand. Slowly she pushed the needle thru, pulling the thread tight, as she closed the wound. 

Sansa had hands that were made for stitching. Small and dainty, her fingers perfect for holding tiny sewing needles. 

Her hands were more comfortable holding a different kind of steel. She tried to keep her mind on her stitches and not let her thoughts drift to fonder memories of her own 'needle'. She watched as she made stitch after stitch, stopping only to wipe away the blood when it got too thick for her to see the skin she was attempting to sew back together. 

She found it odd that this task should bother her. Blood never made her squeamish as it did other girls. Once when they were children, a stable boy had broken his arm, the bone bursting thru the flesh. Sansa had fainted at the sight and Jeyne Poole had thrown up. No, blood had ever bothered her before. 

She had killed dozens of men. She had watched as the blood flowed out of them, and perhaps at times even enjoyed watching them die. She had seen countless others die in the war, many of them friends and family even. Death, and the blood that accompanied it, was all a part of life. 

Taking another deep breath, and attempting another stitch, she tried to not think about death now. The words of her beloved teacher drifted thru her thoughts as they always did when she was troubled. Softly now she spoke them aloud to herself. "What do we say to the God of Death?" She knew the words that came next, but another phrase from another teacher floated across her mind instead. One she had spoke herself dozens of times. "Valar Morghulis." All men must die. 

She shook her head and finished the next stitch. This man would not die. She would not let him. Again she thought of Sansa, and her pretty stitches. They would make this wound better. Nice and clean it would look. He would probably not even scar if it was Sansa here making the stitches. Everything that Sansa did was perfect. 

Her thoughts now turned to a conversation she had once overheard between Septa Mordane and her Lady mother. "Sansas work is as pretty as she is. She has such delicate hands. Arya has the hands of a blacksmith." 

She snorted as she pulled the next stitch thru. She glanced over at the hands of the man lying next to her, hands that were much larger than hers, scarred in places from various burns and nicks from spending hours working at the forge. Her hands may not be ladylike and dainty but they were far from being the hands of a blacksmith if Gendrys hands were to judge. 

They had been riding to Winterfell, back from the Wall where they had been visiting Jon, when they encountered a lone desperate looking wildling. Starving the man had demanded food, and Gendry dismounted his horse and tried to offer the man some bread. She never saw the wildling pull his knife, only saw Gendry flinch away, holding his arm, as the blood flowed down freely onto the fresh spring snow. She dismounted her horse and gave the man a quick death. She knew Sansa would scold her, for dispensing justice herself, instead of bringing him back to Winterfell for sentencing, but Arya would never allow anyone to attack a member of her pack, not while she was alive and able to protect her own. 

The wound had not looked deep, but he was losing blood so fast. He began to pale, and after a few moments he lost consciousness. She had tried to wrap the wound, but the blood soaked thru the cloth almost instantly. She knew she had to try to sew it closed if she wanted to save his life. 

Now they were here, at least a days ride from Winterfell still, with only Arya and her poor stitching to try and save him. 

She finished her final stitch and thought about what to do next as she remained sitting on the ground next to Gendry. She remembered the last time she had tried to heal someone. It seemed another lifetime ago when she had left the Hound on the banks of the Trident, dying from the wound in his leg. Shaking her head, she tried to forget unpleasant memories of the man she now begrudgingly called brother, after Sansa had foolishly fallen in love with the beast and married him. 

She thought now of her tiny nephew Eddard Clegane, and the new babe that was now growing inside Sansa, and wondered if she would ever have a child of her own. While she never really saw herself as becoming a mother, she sometimes liked to imagine what it would be like if she would have a daughter, a girl with wild brown hair, one that would like to ride horses and sword fight. Or perhaps a son, a strong armed boy who would have shaggy black hair and brilliant blue eyes. 

Blue eyes like the ones that were suddenly looking up at her. She smiled at Gendry and resisted the urge to smack him for getting hurt and scaring her so badly. He struggled to sit up and she leaned over to help him. Weakly he drank from a nearby wineskin, and softly fingered the stitches in his arm. 

"Are you hurt Milady" he questioned her. Shaking her head she looked down and realized she was covered in blood, his blood. Normally she would chastise him for teasing her and addressing her so formally, but the words caught in her throat as she held up her hands and stared at the blood that stained them. 

"Arya, your scaring me." he said looking at her concerned. She realized that she was shaking and had not spoken a word since he had woke. He reached over with his uninjured arm and brushed at her cheek, at a wetness she had not noticed was there before. 

She threw herself into his lap, surprising him and almost knocking him over in the process, and kissed him hard on the lips. His arm went around her holding her close to him. After a few moments she pulled away, trying to catch her breath and slightly embarrassed, looked into his eyes. 

Breathless himself, he said her name, "Arya." It was barely a whisper against the wind, but it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Before she knew what she was doing, before she could think about it, or talk herself out of it, the words left her mouth. 

"I love you, you stupid bull." 

He smiled at her, practically beaming, as he pulled her close and captured her lips again with his. "I love you Milady, my stubborn she-wolf." he whispered against her lips. 

This time she did not resist smacking his shoulder at his jest but Gendry just laughed and kissed her again.


End file.
